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Updated: June 20, 2025
Tawney was one of those who, at last, helped pull him on board the Neversink. As he touched the deck, Cardan saluted Decatur, the hostile commander, and offered his sword; but it was courteously declined.
"I'm not so quick on my feet any more," Johnny Coombs said, "but I got nothin' wrong with my ears." He scratched his jaw and looked up sharply at Greg. "Not many people nowadays get a chance to bargain with Merrill Tawney." Greg shrugged. "He named a price and I didn't like it." "Three times what the rig is worth," Coombs said. "That's what I didn't like," Greg said.
Tawney looked at Johnny, and started for the door, still rubbing his jaw. "We'll talk again later," he said, and then he was gone. When the guard had left, and the lock buzzed in the door, Johnny looked at Greg and shook his head sadly. "You just about fixed things, boy, you really did. You've got to use your head if you want to stay alive a while, that's all.
Fuming, Tawney checked off the sections, watched the net draw tighter throughout the ship. They were somewhere, they had to be.... But nobody seemed to find them. He was buzzing for his first mate when the power went off. The lights went out, the speaker went dead in his hand. The computers sighed contentedly and stopped computing.
There were footsteps in the corridor outside; they came closer, stopped by the door. "Quick," Johnny hissed, "back inside!" There was no time to look for other concealment. Tom leaped across the room, jumped up into the shaft again, and Greg slammed the grate up into place just as the hatchway door swung open. Merrill Tawney walked into the room, with two burly guards behind him.
"A hundred guineas," I answered; for, as I knew that Mr. Fortescue would not "look at a horse," as Tawney put it, under that figure, it would have been useless to ask less. "Very well, sir. I will speak to my master, and let you know." Ranger, as I called the horse, was a purchase of Alston's.
Trevalyon, with some of the best Saxon blood in his veins, of distingue bearing, tall, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, blonde, tawney mustache, short side whiskers, face somewhat bronzed by exposure on the battle field and in travel: a man, a manly man every inch of him, a man whom woman adored and man leaned on, unless when his foes and rivals.
This was so on board of the English frigate. The spirit-room was broken open, and buckets of grog were passed along the decks, where many of the wounded were lying between the guns. These mariners seized the buckets, and, spite of all remonstrances, gulped down the burning spirits, till, as Tawney said, the blood suddenly spirted out of their wounds, and they fell dead to the deck.
Tawney, church government with men like Bishop Temple, writes his books and sermons, and on a cold day, seated on a cushion with his feet in the fender and his hands stretched over a timorous fire, revolves the many problems which beset his peace of mind .
Knowlton's "The Fruits of Philosophy," advocating Birth Control, and the widespread publicity resulting from his trial. Cf. The Creative Impulse in Industry, by Helen Marot. The Instinct of Workmanship, by Thorstein Veblen. Social Decay and Regeneration. By R. Austin Freeman. London 1921. Carlton H. Parker: The Casual Laborer and other essays: p. 30. R. H. Tawney. The Acquisitive Society, p. 184.
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